He comes from huddled huts, from mountainsides, center of the world. Smokes, drinks, abstains. Freeform yet closes onto himself like nightshade. Rolls into my path. My hardened armadillo. His armament protects me from cutting winds when I climb with him, fly to him. I have a feeling of free falling-- no edging, skirting. No margins. No borders. Assured, always. Beautiful & blind.